The Gilded Bitter Rabbit
by St. Ciel
Summary: Sebastian Michaelis, a private detective, gets caught up with four cons in a race to be the first to find a missing gilded rabbit. (1940s Noir AU)
1. You Only Live Once

**A note from the authors:** This story is a co-written by St. Ciel and Justine Harker (from AO3). It's a parody of The Maltese Falcon and we hope you have fun with it.

…

The outside sounds of the bustling city fill the room as the setting West Coast sun bleeds through the open slats of the Venetian blinds, which cover the windows.

My back is to the window but I still feel heat the sun provides. It warms my ears as I lean back in the chair and think about how I should end my day. Perhaps I should call it quits, it's been a slow and uneventful day and I'm really no use just sitting here by myself but I'm still waiting for my partner Claude to return. He disappeared off this afternoon to finish a case; I thought he'd be back by now to give me an update but no such luck.

We were fortunate to get an office facing Market Street, it allows for a lot of foot traffic through our door and provides me with some light entertainment between customers. Glancing over my shoulder I look out the window. This city is full of tall buildings but through them, I can see a section of the Bay Bridge and the cars crawling over it like multi-coloured bugs. The bell of a cable car sounds out to announce their departure and it pulls me out of my thoughts.

Turning back around and reaching over, I slide a decorative wooden box toward me. Flicking open the lid I pull out a small canvas pouch and a thin cardboard packet. Sitting the pouch down and opening the packet, I pluck a piece of paper out of the packet and toss it down. My fingers dig into the pouch and bring out a pinch of loose tobacco.

Lining the paper's crease with the tobacco and resting my elbows on the desktop, I lean over, rolling the cigarette between my fingers.

I hear the door open and softly close, creaking under the weight of a body leaning against it. I don't need to look up to know it's our office secretary Grelle. Whenever she comes into the office, she has a not so subtle tell. It's lead by the impatient tap of her heel and little annoyed sigh at being ignored.

She's an obnoxious, impetuous and hot headed creature, which goes along with her fiery red hair and temperament. I get a little thrill from pretending to ignore her, as I know it infuriates her so much. Continuing to roll my cigarette I hear Grelle exhale another exasperated sigh. This time it's louder as she tries to get my attention. She drums her nails along the side of the door in frustration and I can tell she is desperate to say something. I may as well address her, as she's likely to explode if I don't.

"Yes?" I smile, carrying on with the task at hand.

"Someone's here to see you," she says.

"A customer?" I wonder, my gaze lifting from my hands to her.

"I guess," she rolls her eyes over the rim over the rim of her glasses. "You'll probably want to see her anyway, she's a knock out."

_Well, if she's a knock out,_ I grin to myself.

"Certainly, bring her in Grelle, bring her in."

Licking the edge of the paper and laying it flat against itself, I seal it with a quick twist of my fingers. Shaking her head, Grelle opens the door and slips back into the reception with a swish of red clad hips and her hand still on the doorknob.

"Mr. Michaelis said he will see you now Miss Lapin but be quick."

There is a soft murmur from the other side and Grelle sharply nods toward me. Appearing in the doorway, a young woman hesitates a moment before entering. Tutting under her breath, Grelle shuts the door behind her.

She's a peach all right; a black wrap is draped over her slender frame with black lace gloves covering her delicate hands. She clutches her wrap closed over her throat as she makes her way into the office. I try to get a better look at her face but a chic black hat with blue roses obscures my view, the brim is so wide it completely covers her right eye, shielding half her face from me.

I instantly rise to my feet, flashing her a polite smile and motioning to the well-worn brown leather armchair beside my desk. Her eye tentatively looks over to the chair and back to me. Quickly going over to it, I pull it back for her. With a slight nod of appreciation, she sits, crossing her legs at the ankle and placing her small clutch on her lap.

"Thank you," she says softly. I go around to other side of the desk and slink back into my chair. Sliding a pad of paper in front of me and collecting a pencil, I tap the point on the pad and look up at her. She seems jittery and nervous as she makes light work of torturing her bottom lip.

"What can I do for you, Miss Lapin?" I smile, hoping I can set her at ease.

"My sister… She… I don't know where she is…" She hurriedly replies.

"Where'd you leave her?" I ask with a little cheek, which I quickly regret as she doesn't appear to find the humor in my words. Adjusting the clasp of her wrap, she rolls her shoulders as her body stiffens. "All right, perhaps it'd be best of you start from the beginning."

"She met a man in New York, some scoundrel from outside our social circle. And now he's gone off with her and our parents are gone. I have to find her before they get back from Europe." She rambles, each word pours out in rapid succession.

"When are they coming back?" I inquire, scribbling down what I can gather from her rambling.

"At the end of the month," she answers.

"That only gives us two weeks," I say more to myself than her.

"I wasn't sure she had gone with him until I got the letter from San Francisco. I was absolutely shocked that she'd actually done it. I didn't know what to do. What could I do?"

Dropping the pencil, I lean back in my chair and cross my arms as I think.

"I suppose nothing, but then, you received a letter from her?" I say calmly as I can see she's on the verge of tears.

Miss Lapin nods in response, her eyes on the notes I had taken down instead of seeing me. "I sent a telegram telling her to come home. She never responded which just got me more concerned. I decided to come out here to get her myself. I wrote to say I was coming. Should I have done that? I don't know..."

"Miss Lapin, from my experience, it's always hard to know what to do in these situations," I try to reassure her. "So, you're still unsure of her whereabouts?"

"Of course not. Would I be here if I was?" She snaps.

"No," I agree.

"I said I would go to St. Mark's, and told her to meet me there. I was hoping I could convince her in person to come home, but she didn't turn up."

"Not even a message?"

Her hands fall to her lap and her gaze follows suit. Lacing her fingers together, she uses her thumb to rub the side of her other hand and sighs heavily.

"Not knowing what was happening to her was the worst feeling," she says with a small shudder. "I sent another letter and went to the post office to wait and see if she would come to pick it up. Instead of my sister, I saw Eric Slingby."

"Slingby?"

"The scoundrel she ran off with."

"I see," I nod, trying to piece all of this together. "What did he say? Why wasn't she with him?"

"He told me nothing. He wouldn't tell me where Mer was or anything except that she was happy and didn't have any interest in seeing me."

"Do you think that's true?"

Her head snaps to me and her large eye starts to water.

"She wouldn't say that. Why would she refuse to see me?" She defends. "Slingby is lying to me, I'm sure of it. He said he would relay my message and would try to bring her to see me this evening at the hotel. He said he was sure she wouldn't want to come, but that he would come alone if she didn't." Miss Lapin pauses to take a breath and gather her thoughts.

After a moment, she feels ready to continue, opening her mouth to begin again. However, the door quickly swings open and stifles her. Clapping her lace-clad hand over her mouth, we watch as my partner Claude comes marching into the office.

Looking around, he stops suddenly upon seeing Miss Lapin and hastily takes off his fedora.

"Oh, do excuse me, I wasn't aware someone was in the office," he apologises, shooting me a dirty look as if I should have given him some kind of warning.

"Claude, may I introduce you to Miss Lapin? Miss Lapin, this is Mr Faustus, my partner."

Claude comes toward us, stopping at the corner of my desk. Pushing his glasses up with his index finger, he nonchalantly casts his eyes over Miss Lapin. From her lowered face to her neatly crossed ankles and back up again. Once he is finished taking her in, he looks over to me and lets out a self-satisfied snort of mild appreciation. I stifle an amused chuckle at my partner's typically stern expression showing something other than contempt.

"Pleased to meet you," he offers her his hand and she politely accepts it, giving it a small shake.

"Miss Lapin is here because she's trying to find her sister. She ran off with a fella by the name of Eric Slingby and ended up in San Francisco. Miss Lapin has since seen Slingby and agreed to meet again tonight in the hopes he'll bring her sister, Mer, but the likelihood is low. Miss Lapin wants us to find her sister, get her away from Slingby and back home to New York. Am I right so far?" I ask her.

"Yes," she agrees flatly.

Picking up my pencil I begin to write some thoughts down quickly. Miss Lapin and Claude both look at me curiously as I put a plan together on paper.

"I reckon it's a matter of someone being at the hotel to follow him when he leaves and hopefully, that'll bring us to your sister." I surmise, still looking at my notes.

"What if she doesn't want to leave him?" Claude wonders and I shrug.

"That's a possibility but you know as well as I do, there are ways of handling that, should it arise."

"Right," Claude agrees with a knowing look.

"You'll have to be careful. I'm afraid of...what he might do. Bringing Mer here from New York is serious. What if he does something to her?" She says with concern obvious in her voice.

My eyes dart to Claude who simply nods.

"I wouldn't worry about that, we'll know how handle him." I state.

Miss Lapin sits upright as though a jolt raced up her spine. Her hands land on the arms of the chair, gripping them tightly.

"He is a dangerous man. You understand what I'm saying?" She warns with a blanched look of fear on her face. "I honestly think he would stop at nothing and may even kill Mer if he was forced to, if he was cornered."

"All right calm down, what does he look like?" I ask. Her eye drifts to the side as she recollects his appearance.

"He's tall with dark blond hair, glasses and jaunty beard just on his chin and has a peculiar smirk on his face."

"And his build?"

"Thin, quite agile looking. He had on a black suit and black gloves when I saw him at the post office this morning," she says and I nod whilst making notes.

"What time did you arrange to meet him?"

"After eight o'clock," she replies. Sitting the pencil down I look over my plan, humming lowly as I'm sure it will work.

"Very well Miss Lapin, we'll put a man there to-"

"No need Michaelis, I'll look into it myself." Claude hastily interjects.

I can't help but smirk at my partner's offer. Trailing people isn't something Claude typically cares to involve himself with. Of course, with the right pair of legs, you can convince a man to do anything.

Sitting forward, a grateful smile makes its way onto Miss Lapin's lips.

"Thank you, thank very much."

Flicking open the gold clasp on her clutch, she roots around in one of the side pockets and withdraws a few bills, sliding them purposefully across the desk.

"This should be enough to get you started," she says.

"It's just fine," I smile, looking at the money on the desk.

Clearing my throat and getting up, I go over to Miss Lapin. Offering her my hand, she places hers in mine and I guide her up to her feet.

"Thank you," she blushes.

"Not a problem," I say, escorting her to the door. "Oh, just one thing, can you meet Slingby in the lobby? I think it would be easier to track him from there."

"I will," she nods.

"And Miss Lapin, try to act as natural as possible when you meet Slingby," Claude adds. "You don't have to worry about looking for me, I'll be there."

She gives him a polite smile as she makes her way out of the office. Closing the door behind her, I head back to my desk. Picking up one of the bills, Claude examines it carefully, feeling the texture of the paper between his fingers.

"They're real all right," he notes as he folds it up and shoves it into his vest pocket. "And I bet there's more where that came from."

I hum in acknowledgement and slide the other bill toward me before sitting back down. I don't bother to give it as much attention as Claude, simply folding it and tucking it into my coat pocket.

"What do you make of her?" I ask, genuinely interested in his opinion. The whole time she was here, I couldn't seem to get an accurate read on her.

Claude shrugs. "She seems sweet," he answers and then lets out a smug chuckle. "You may have seen her first but I spoke first," he sneers, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he rocks back onto his heels.

"Is that so?" I grin with an arch in my brow. "You're smart Faustus, yes you are."

"I'm sure there's a compliment there," he smirks, perching his fedora on the crown of his head.

Smiling, I pick up the cigarette I made earlier and pop it between my lips watching as he leaves the office once again.

…

After the day is finished, I make my way back home.

Clicking on the lights to an empty apartment, I take off my hat and shrug off my coat flinging both onto a nearby chair. I live alone; it seems fitting, especially as I wouldn't call myself a people person. Sure, they're all right I guess, but I find them more interesting from a business perspective, rather than simply good company.

Besides, the idea of sharing my life with someone isn't something that appeals; especially I already have something wonderful to come home to. Looking down I my feet I see her sitting quietly beside me, her glossy black fur shines with each sway of her tail. Smiling, I bend over and run my hand from the top of her head down to behind her ears as she purrs loudly in appreciation.

"Good evening Astor," I greet my cat sweetly and she replies with a little meow. Stepping past her, I meander to the cabinet along the wall. Pulling on the knot of my tie to loosen it, I look over the various crystal decanters until I settle on the one containing the whisky.

Taking out the stopper and sitting it to the side, I pour the dark brown liquid into a glass and put it down. After adding a splash of water to it, I take my glass, inhale the peat scent released by the water, and head over to the couch. Flopping back on it, Astor jumps up to join me, curling up on my lap.

Stroking her back and taking a sip of whisky I reflect back on my evening but in particular, meeting Miss Lapin. There is something not quite right about her but if Faustus thinks she's on the level, then who am I to argue? Reaching into my pocket I take out the bill and twirl it between my fingers. I wonder, who is Miss Lapin? Is she really the wide-eyed innocent she appears to be? I guess it doesn't really matter what she is as long as the money's good.

Smiling to myself and resting my head against the back of the chair, I close my eyes and try to relax.

I must have fallen into a very deep sleep as the next thing I know is I'm jolted awake by the loud ring of my telephone. Yawning, I stand and go over to the telephone, pick it up and tuck it between my ear and shoulder.

"Hello?" I inquire, waiting for their reply. "Yes, this is Sebastian Michaelis… What? Dead?" They inform me and I nearly drop the receiver. "Of course… No, no, come to me. Bush and Stockton, fifteen minutes, thank you."

Putting the phone back down on the hook, I stare blankly at it and try to wrap my mind around what I just heard. Claude is dead.


	2. Dial M For Murder

I nearly wear the floor through from my constant pacing as I play the call again in my head. Claude is dead, he's been murdered. Rubbing the back of my neck, I go over to the liquor cabinet and grab the whisky decanter. Picking up the stopper and holding it for a moment I stop, shaking my head as I put it back down. Instead, I reach down to pull open the top drawer and take out a small pouch of tobacco with a slip of paper. Making quick work of packing and rolling a cigarette, I lick the edge and flatten it against the side to seal it closed.

Popping it in my mouth, I lean against the edge of the cabinet and fold my arms. My mind works to think of something but comes up blank.

A cool breeze hits the back of my neck as the wind wafts in from an open window. It makes the curtains twitch as it passes through, carrying the dull moan from the foghorn at Alcatraz. Bowing my head, I take the cigarette from my lips and go back to the telephone. Picking it up I quickly dial a sequence of numbers. Tapping the tip of my cigarette on the table, I await for the person on the other line to pick up.

"Yes, good evening. Can you please send a cab to the corner of Bush and Stockton?"

…

The taxi pulls up a little ways down Chestnut Street. Getting out, I pay the driver and look around to see part of the street blocked off with several police officers hanging about. Walking over to one of the officers who is chomping on his gum like a cow chews cud, I clear my throat to get his attention.

"What do you want here?" The officer asks me in a gruff tone.

"I'm Sebastian Michaelis, Ronald Knox phoned me earlier."

The officer gives me a hard stare before nodding.

"I didn't recognize you," he says, motioning behind him. "They're back there."

Glancing over my shoulder I see the flicker of flash blubs going off, I guess that's where the body is.

"Thanks," I bow my head as I turn to make my way down the alleyway.

Looks like the fence took a beating. A line of rope creates a makeshift barrier from one end of fence still standing to the other and the rest is torn down. My eyes follow the path to the end of the alleyway and up. There are a few officers gathering around what I suspect to be Claude's final stop.

As I approach them, someone shines a light in my eye with a small torch, blinding me. Holding my hand up to shield my face from the light, it's lowered and a man comes towards me. It's detective Ronald Knox, an enthusiastic upstart and the one who called me. He smiles, patting me on the back.

"Hello, Sebastian," Ronald greets me with a pleasantry not befitting the scene. "Didn't realise you'd want to see him before we took him away?"

"What happened?"

"Got him right in the heart with this," he pulls a revolver out of his pocket, holding it toward me but I don't take it. Bending over I examine the gun carefully. It's caked in mud but I can make out the words written along the surface.

"A Lævatein? They don't make 'em like that anymore," I note, still studying it. "How many did he take?"

"One pill," Ronald answers, sliding his glasses up with his index finger and putting the gun back in his coat pocket.

Looking around I try to work out the possible series of events in my head. Moving next to Ronald I hold my hands out to get a measure of space.

"So he was shot up here, right? Just as you're standing with your back to the fence?" I think aloud, before Ronald has the chance to respond I move in front of him and raise my hand to his chest, forming my fingers into the shape of a gun. "The man shoots him from here," I tap Ronald in the chest. "Hits Claude once, which then sends him crashing into the fence and down into the gutter," I conclude, trying to get the scenario straight in my head.

"That's about it. The shot burnt a hole in his coat," Ronald agrees, pointing to the hole in Claude's coat. Titling the brim of my hat back I realize I can't see anything in the dark, I'll need to get closer.

"Who found him?" I ask.

"Just another man on the beat, nobody heard the shot. We just got here and still looking into things," he says, leaving me to go over to the body.

I follow along to get a closer look. There he is, sprawled out on his back with a hole in his chest. I notice his glasses must have been knocked off, as they're nowhere to be seen. Bending over, I carefully reach into his coat top pocket and pull out his spare pair, the ones he keeps for emergencies. Unfolding them, I delicately place them on his face, giving him whatever piece of dignity I can. Besides, I know Claude; he'd want it this way.

"I notice his gun's still holstered, doesn't look like it's been fired. Also, his coat is still buttoned and there's money in his pocket, so it wasn't a mugging," Ronald informs me.

Standing up right, I stretch my back and head up to the street. I guess I've seen enough, which was really nothing at all.

"No, I don't think it was a mugging," I sigh, pulling the brim of my hat down. Ronald looks at me suspiciously as though I'm withholding information. "He was trailing a fella named Eric Slingby," I say, filling him in. "We were trying to find out where he lived, nothing more."

Ronald nods and quickly jots this information down on his note pad.

"It's rough, him getting hit like that. Claude was a bit severe but he must have had some likable qualities."

"I guess so," I shrug. "But to me, he was a son of a bitch."

Ronald doesn't say anything further and I take my leave, tipping my hat over my eyebrows to cover my face and pulling up the collar of my trench. Going back down the alleyway, I see the City Coroner start to cover Claude's body with a heavy white sheet. It's an end as good as any.

I feel the burn of the stares as I pass by the gathered officers. I don't know what show of emotion they want from me? It's a well known fact I didn't like the guy, I never did, why pretend to give a damn now? Getting out of the alleyway and walking up the street, I spot a payphone outside a lit up drugstore. Pulling the heavy door back and stepping inside, I pick up the receiver, holding it in between my ear and shoulder and fish a nickel from my pocket. Dropping the coin in the slot I quickly dial a set of numbers and wait for the ring, drumming my fingers along the side.

"Grelle, it's me. Never mind the time I have to," she cuts me off to have a rant about disturbing her beauty sleep and I can't help but sigh. "Listen precious," I begin again, keeping my voice low. "Claude has been shot… Yes he's dead," holding the phone away from my ear I shake my head before returning it. "Calm down now, don't get excited. I need you to call Alois and tell him, it'll be better coming from you." She mutters an agreement. "I also need you to keep him away from me, understand?" There's a long pause on the other end and then an exasperated sigh. "That's a good girl, you're a darling," I say before hanging up the phone.

…

After a long walk to clear my congested head I make it back to my apartment. Dropping my keys on the side cabinet, shrugging off my coat and taking off my hat, I put them both on the coat hanger. I feel the weight of Astor against my shins as she weaves her slender body between my legs. She's trying to calm me, obviously picking up on my rattled nerves from this rough nights journey into morning. My eyes search around for the time, landing on the old deco clock on the wall. Three-forty, perfect, I need a drink. My walk did me no favors as my mind is as clouded with thoughts as it was when I put the phone down earlier this evening.

Staggering through the front room with Astor in tow, I get to the drinks cabinet and pour myself a whisky, hoping to God I can drink this night out of my memory.

Taking a sip and letting the warm peaty flavor rest on my tongue, the buzzer rings and my face instantly sours. Well, so much for that. I don't move hoping in vain that whomever dares to darken my doorstep will just take the hint and go away but they lean on the buzzer again. With an arch in her spine Astor lets out a sharp hiss and scurries off into the kitchen. Going to the door, I wait a moment until the buzzer sounds out again. With a heavy sigh, I lift the telephone box on the side and press the button to unlock the main entrance door. Hearing the door open and slam shut on the other end of the receiver I hang up the phone with a scowl and lean against the wall with my arms crossed, waiting for whomever it is to come up. Although, given the time of night, it's not a stretch to figure out who this could be.

The faint creek of the elevator grate closing followed by footsteps coming closer to my door. Pushing myself away from the wall, my hand hovers over the handle as I wait for my guests to announce their arrival. Ringing the doorbell once, I quickly twist the knob and swing open the door.

My eyes land on a stern looking guy dressed in all black, from his heavy trench coat to fedora, he wasn't messing about with any other colors, the mark of a serious man. Thick rimmed rectangular glasses to match his ridged personality frame his face and there's nothing which can escape his harsh glare, especially me as his eyes cut through me like the hot blade of a knife through butter fresh from the ice box. Behind him is Ronald, still beaming as broadly as when I left him earlier.

"Well hello Ronald, Lieutenant Spears. Come in," I greet them, moving aside to let them through. Staying silent, they nod and come into the apartment. Shutting the door I join them as Ronald makes himself right at home, sitting down on the end of the sofa.

Spears looks thoroughly uncomfortable as he looks around for a place to sit, finally settling on a chair next to the table on the right. Green eyes scour the room looking for something, what? I'm not sure but I know this isn't a social call.

"Did Claude have a wife?" Ronald asks me, breaking the awkward silence.

"He had a something," I reply sarcastically, leaning against the edge of the sofa.

"How'd she take it?"

"They took it as well as they could I suppose."

"Don't you know?" Spears grumbles with an arch in his brow. Finally, the man deems me worthy enough to speak to.

"I don't know anything about women," I shrug, shaking my head.

"Since when don't you?" Ronald wonders with a cheeky grin.

Putting his hands on his knees Spears leans forward with a hard stare on me.

"What kind of gun do you carry?" He snarls, getting right to the point.

"None, I prefer knives." I jest but my joke is met with a fierce disapproving look from Spears. "I don't care for guns but of course, there are some at the office."

"Sure you don't have one here?"

I look around with a smile and then stare down at my empty glass, circling the last remaining ice cube in the bottom. I know what they're getting at and I'm more than willing to play their game but of course, on my terms.

"Turn the place upside down if you want. All you'll find are my things and my cat Astor," I smirk. "But, you'll need a search warrant first."

Ronald starts to fidget in his seat, sighing out loud through his nose.

"We're not trying to cause trouble here Sebastian," he tries to assure me but I'm not buying it.

"Don't want to cause trouble? Then what are you here for?" I ask and they stay silent, merely exchanging little looks between them. "You'd better tell me or get out." My tone is even but stern.

"We're just trying to do our job, no need to get uppity," Ronald stresses.

Spears jumps up, rushing over to me. Standing so close I can feel his hot breath snort on my skin. Standing, I rise to meet his challenge, squaring off face to face.

"Why were you trailing Slingby?" He sneers.

"I wasn't, Claude was and it was because of the swell fact of having a client pay us good federal money to do so."

"Who's your client?"

"Sorry, can't say." I return with an arched brow, pushing him away from me.

"Come on Sebastian, be reasonable. Don't you want to find Claude's killer?" Ronald tries to appeal to my better nature but unfortunately for him, I don't have one.

"Cut the crap Michaelis, you didn't bother to tell Claude's chippy that he's dead, we already spoke to the girl in the office and she said you left it to her." Spears spits out his accusation. Before I have a chance to retaliate, he continues. "I reckon it took you ten minutes to get to a phone, give your instructions to your girl and ten minutes to get to Slingby's hotel. You could do it easily in that time."

"What's your boyfriend getting at here, Ronald?" I snip, keeping my eyes firmly on Spears.

"Only this," Spears comes close to me again, tapping his knuckles on my chest hard. "Slingby was murdered in front of his hotel about thirty minutes after you left Chestnut Street."

"Keep. Your. Paws. Off. Me." I growl pushing him off of me once again. Creating some distance, I go across the room to the bookshelf along the side of the wall and look for my tobacco pouch. Now there are two deaths and it seems I'm being accused of one or the other, if not both. Well, this is a fine how do you do.

Clearing his throat and sliding his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Spears watches me with a serious look on his face.

"What time did you get home?"

"Not that long ago," I answer honestly, finding the pouch where I left it, beside the telephone on the small side table. "I was taking a walk to think things over."

"Where did you walk to?"

"Up Chestnut a way, not far." I start to make a cigarette but my hands are shaking far too much from the anger I'm trying to quell.

These two are starting to rile me. I know what they want to get out of me but I'm afraid they'll be left disappointed. However, they don't seem like they're going to let me get off so easily. Dropping the paper and giving up on the whole matter, I pick up my glass and neck whatever is left of the melted ice cube.

"Did anybody see you?" Spears asks.

"No, no witnesses," I chuckle, finding the question absurd. "Why don't you have a seat Spears? You've barely touched your drink," I motion to the glass on the table. "You want another one Ron?"

Ronald shakes his head. "No thanks."

I shrug and wander back over to the cabinet. Spears sits back down but pushes his glass to the side. Fair enough.

"I guess I know where I stand," I smile. "You'll have to forgive me but you birds trying to fit a noose around my neck made me nervous. I mean, Claude gets bumped off and here you are, little birdies looking to crack a fox. It's fine though, now that I know what your game is." I know all right, these two are trying to fit me up for the crime and as it stands, I'm looking at going down for it. Well, as long as there are no bracelets around my wrists, I may as well gauge how much they know to see if I can piece this together myself. It's only a matter of time before this stops becoming a social visit. "So, Slingby died huh? How'd I kill him? I can't remember," I jest. Well, if you're going to fit a man up for something, you may as well let him have a little fun with it.

Ronald rolls his eyes and flips open his notebook, his gaze searches his notes to find the relevant information.

"Four slugs in the back with a .45, no witnesses," he answers.

"Anyone at the hotel know something about him?"

"Only that he'd been staying there a week."

"Alone?" I wonder aloud, dropping a few fresh ice cubes into my glass.

Ronald nods. Well that's curious.

"What was his game?" I press my glass to my temple, trying to figure out who Slingby was.

"We thought you could tell us."

"Never met the man, dead or alive."

Spears rises from his seat slowly. Each steadied move of the large man is measured as his hand grips the back of the chair tightly. He eyes me with such a burning seriousness; I stop what I'm doing to turn to him. I can see the wheels in his mind whirling but I wonder what's going to come out of his pursed lips.

"Look," he begins. "I'm a fair man Michaelis, if you did it or didn't do it, you'll still get treated fair by me. It makes sense that you'd want to kill the man who killed your partner," he pauses for a moment. "But that doesn't mean I'm not going to follow protocol."

Shrugging with a nod I stay silent. Spears is notorious for his ridged love of rules, procedure and playing by the book, there's no sense in arguing my point with him. Pushing myself away from the stand, I make my way around the room. Collecting their empty glasses in between my fingers and bringing them back to the liquor cabinet. Taking the steel tongs into my hand, I feel their eyes on me as I pick up a couple of ice cubes and drop them in each glass. I don't have a real plan in mind but I do have some time to figure things out for myself. If I can placate Spears, I may be able to buy myself enough time to get to the bottom of all of this without landing myself in jail.

"I guess that's fair," I say to acknowledge Spears' remark. Pulling the stopper out of the whisky decanter, I pour the liquor into each glass. "However, I'd feel much better if we drank on it."

Ronald hesitantly glances over to Spears who simply nods his head in silent permission. Standing, they both come over to me and I slide their glasses to them.

Picking up the glass, Ronald holds it to his nose and sniffs it. His face scrunches up from the scent causing Spears to roll his eyes. I guess kids these days don't appreciate the quality of a fine single malt. Shaking my head and holding my glass up, I prepare to make a short toast.

"May crime always pay," I cheers with every bit of sarcasm implied in my statement. Spears snorts into his glass as he takes a small polite sip and sits the glass down. The hard clink of heavy glass against wood sounds out and signals Ronald to hurry and neck it, which he does until the ice hits his nose.

Putting his glass down next to Spears', Ronald wipes the wet condensation from the glass off on his coat and then holds his hand out to me. Taking it and giving it a firm shake, I show them to the door. Ronald leaves first followed by Spears whose eyes narrow on me as he crosses the threshold. A not so subtle gesture to remind me that he'll be watching me.

Shutting the door behind them, I quickly lock it and head towards the couch. Astor appears from around the corner, purring loudly with relief to have the place to ourselves again. Looking down at her with a smile, I start to tug the knot of my tie.

"Well Astor, what do you make of that?" I smile at her as she flicks her tail in response. What to make of that indeed?

…

I barely slept that night, unable to settle my thoughts long enough for any peace and too drunk to make sense of them. Before I knew it, it was dawn and I decide I'd be of more use at the office.

Besides, I want to speak to Miss Lapin; I suppose I need to give her the news of Claude's death and even more so that I'll be dropping her case. I don't care how fair Spears plans on being; I'm the only one in their sights at the moment. I'll need to keep my wits about me to prove my innocence.

After a quick wash and shave, I dress, collect my coat and hat ready to leave for the office.

As I walk in, I catch sight of Grelle who is sitting at her desk opening the morning mail. Glancing up she shakes her head and puts down the opened envelopes.

"He's in there," she says with a low voice and a raised eyebrow.

"What? I told you to keep him away from me," I hiss.

"Yes darling but you didn't tell me how," she smiles, pointing the brass letter opener at me.

Shaking my head and clearing my throat to ready myself for whatever I'm about to step into, I go to my office door.

"Hello Alois," I greet him flatly as I walk in.

A petite form huddles by the door, androgynous, though decidedly feminine in dress, clad in black from head to toe. His pale face is obscured by a wisp of a veil but I can see he's been crying. Saying nothing in return, he waits for me to close the door and hang my hat and coat up on the rack nearby. Before I have the chance to fully turn and face him, Alois rushes me, tossing back the veil from his tear-streaked face, his head lifts expecting a kiss.

Against my better judgment, I oblige, giving him a quick peck on the lips. Alois then collapses into my chest, grabbing onto the lapels of my coat in his fists.

"Oh Sebastian!" he cries.

"You poor dear," I say softly, gently stroking his back. "Did Grelle attend to everything?"

"I think so. Oh Sebastian," he wails. I fight to maintain my composure over this display of maudlin sadness, still stroking his back. Pulling away, his tear stained face stares at mine. "You didn't kill him did you?" Alois asks in all seriousness.

"Where did that come from?" I answer coldly. Wrapping my hands around his thin wrists, I yank him off of my coat and I turn to go toward my desk.

"I...I don't know. I just thought..."

"That I'd kill Claude?" I laugh at the thought. "That's rich, you think I did it?"

Alois' shoulders slump as he begins to sob again, pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve to hold to his moist face. Letting out a heavy sigh I go back over to him, placing my hands on his shoulders. "Come now Alois, calm down, you're getting yourself all worked up." I try and soothe him. "You shouldn't have come here doll, you're better off at home."

Glistening ice blue eyes blink to clear the forming tears as he looks up at me.

"Will you be over soon?" He asks between stifled sobs. My jaw clenches at the notion. First he accuses me of killing his partner and now he expects me to come over? Now that is rich. However I must say something to get him to leave or else this disingenuous display of mourning will never cease. Giving his shoulders a firm squeeze, I smile at him.

"Sure kid, as soon as I can," I say, moving him toward the door. Opening it, I place my hand on the small of his back and guide him out. "Goodbye Alois."

He looks back and nods, leaving on the promise of seeing me again later. Not likely, I'd prefer to share the same fate as Claude before I step one foot back into his life. Growling lowly, I walk to my desk, and throw myself down on the chair. Pulling open a side drawer and taking out a tobacco pouch and cigarette papers, I think about the situation I currently find myself in. Taking a pinch of tobacco, I messily spread it across the open paper but I stop for a moment. Glancing over to Claude's vacant desk, I can't help but grimace. _You've left me with a fine mess to clean up Faustus,_ I scowl to myself.

I hear Grelle get up from her desk, the click of her heels signals her arrival as she stops and stands in the doorway. Saying nothing, I go back to smoothing out the tobacco along the crease of the paper.

"So?" She begins but I ignore her, carrying on making my cigarette. "What did he say?"

"Oh, nothing really, just that he thinks I shot Claude." I answer plainly, spilling some of the leaves out of the paper and onto the desk.

"Just so you could be with him? Seems like an ineffectual business plan."

"It really is," I agree. "The cops reckon I shot Slingby, you know, the fella Claude was trailing for Miss Lapin?" She nods. "Tell me Grelle, who do you think I shot?" I ask jokingly.

Grelle saunters over to me and leans over the desk. She scrapes the tobacco from the desktop to the edge and then into her hand. Dusting the bits of leaves into the pouch, Grelle then perches herself on the edge, crossing her arms.

"So now there's nothing stopping you, huh?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I snort, licking the paper and sealing it shut. "I wish to God I never laid eyes on him."

She shrugs and picks up the lighter. "I bet you do now. Maybe he killed him?"

Running her thumb over the ignition to start the flame, I lean forward to light my freshly made cigarette, sucking in a long drag.

"You're a dear, a nice rattle brained dear," I exhale with a weak smile. Grelle pouts for a moment and then tosses her hair over her shoulder.

"Am I?" She questions with an ached brow. "What if I told you Alois was just getting home when I arrived there at 3 o'clock this morning to tell him the sad news? Seems a bit strange, doesn't it?"

Sitting back, I examine Grelle's serious expression.

"Just what are you saying here Grelle?"

She leans in closer. "He had me wait at the door while he changed clothes. When I got in, I saw that he had messed up the bed like he was asleep but it was obvious he hadn't been. His suit was laying across the chair where he'd just thrown it."

"Nice work dear, there's a little detective in there," I smile, patting her lightly on the hand. "Alois didn't kill him."

Straightening up, Grelle pulls on her blouse and crosses her arms again. I didn't mean to be so dismissive but of all things Alois can be, a killer isn't one of them. He loved Claude, not enough to be fateful but what would he gain from his murder?

"Do the police really think you shot this what's his name?" She inquires but I don't reply, choosing to ash my cigarette instead, which causes her to frown.

"I'm serious, Sebastian," She scolds. "The way you carry on like a real tough guy, some day it'll come back to bite you."

"Maybe it will someday," I agree with a wink. Scoffing, Grelle shakes her head knowing full well I'm not going to heed her warning.

A quiet moment passes between us and I take another drag of my cigarette, holding it in my lungs. Perhaps Grelle is right, I'm in a mess and I can't figure my way out of it. The cops bounce between the idea of me killing Claude or Slingby, Alois thinks I've killed Claude and Grelle seems to think Alois did it. I don't know what the truth is and frankly, I'm not even sure how to find it.

The phone rings before I'm able to give the situation another thought. Grelle jumps to attention, bending over to quickly answer it.

"Michaelis and Faustus," she answers, and then her green eyes widen as she looks at me.

"Who is it?" I mouth.

"Miss Lapin, yes, one moment-"

Waving my hand, I motion for her to give me the phone. Grelle tentatively passes it to me and I stub out my cigarette.

"Hello, this is Sebastian Michaelis," I pause as she reintroduces herself. "Yes, Miss Lapin, I was just going to call you. Sorry?" I'm silent as she says something on the other end. "Yes, I'll come to you," I respond, snapping my fingers and pointing to the pad on the desk. Grelle quickly slides it to her and picks up a pencil, readying to take notes. "The Coronet on California Street, apartment 1001," I repeat and Grelle notes it down. "All right Miss Lapin, I'll be right over."

Grelle rips the paper from the pad and hands it to me after I finish putting the phone down. Taking the paper from her I get up from my chair, folding it into a square and stuffing it into my pocket. Her stare remains firmly on me as I put my coat and hat on. Casting my eyes around the room, they take scour over the furniture and fixings before finally landing on the glass vision panel on the door. My brow knits with each letter affixed to it and I turn back to Grelle.

"I want this place cleared out, get rid of Claude's desk and take his name off the door. It should Sebastian Michaelis instead," I order before walking out the door.

…

My taxi pulls up to the front of The Coronet, a large light grey building on the corner of California Street. It's relatively new but because of the location, an apartment here is highly sought after and I would imagine, expensive. I'm quite curious how Miss Lapin was able to get a place here, didn't she say she just arrived?

Come to think of it, nothing about her seems quite right, from the moment she showed up in my office to where she currently lives. It's not normally my policy to know the ins and outs of each client we take on but I normally can get a feel of someone quite quickly, with her, I'm drawing a blank. I know next to nothing about her and now I'm wishing I probed a little deeper. I can't explain it but I've been in this game for long enough to know when I'm being played.

After paying the cabbie, I go to up to the entrance and press the bell for apartment 1001. There is a long wait but then the front door clicks to unlock. Opening the door and making my way in, I head to the elevator, pulling the heavy gate shut behind me. Getting to the door I give it a hard knock and wait for her to answer.

Miss Lapin opens the door quickly, standing in a plush green robe belted tightly at her thin waist. Her face is flush and her hair is loose around her shoulders in thick waves, swept over her right eye, still obscuring half of her face from my view.

"Come in, Mr. Michaelis," she ushers me in.

"Good morning," I smile politely, taking my hat off and handing it to her as I walk through the door.

Leading me through the hallway and into the front room, I have a look around. It's a nice place she's got here, although not particularly tidy. There are some boxes and suitcases scattered around and bits of clothing draped over the arm rest of the navy blue settee in the middle of the room. I can feel Miss Lapin's gaze on me as I take in the room.

"I apologize for the mess," she says meekly, putting my hat down on the coffee table in front of the settee before she sits down on the edge. "I haven't had a chance to unpack," she finishes, motioning for me to take a seat on the chair opposite her. Hitching my trouser legs and sitting, I observe her as she remains quiet for a moment, shyly wringing her hands together on her lap. It looks like she has something to say but I'm going to have to wait until she's ready to spill it. "Mr. Michaelis, I have a confession to make," she begins after a long pause. "I haven't been entirely truthful with you."

"I see," I nod, folding my arms cross my chest and leaning back in the chair. "Well, I didn't completely believe your story Miss, wait, is Miss Lapin even your name?"

I don't mean to be rude or doubt her very name but she's rubbed me wrong from the second I met her. Shaking her head with a playful smile, Miss Lapin lets out a little snort.

"You're good," she says softly. "No, my name isn't Lapin, it's really Phantomhive, Ciel Phantomhive and it's not Miss."

My brow furrows as I try to understand the meaning behind her words.

"I don't understand, you'll have to help me out here."

"What I mean is that I am not a woman," Ciel admits. I'm not sure what to make of this revelation but whilst I come to terms with it, his hand slips under his fringe to cover his right eye as he tugs at the ends of his hair pulling his wig off, reveling a short cut. Leaning over to the side, his hand searches around for something on the top of a side table next to the end of the settee. It lands on a black silk eye patch, which he delicately places over his right eye. "I guess while I'm at it, I should say that I also don't have a sister," he confesses, sliding the loose strings around the back of his head and quickly tying it into a bow.

"Why?"

"I fabricated that story because I was desperate for help and I thought you might be more sympathetic to a lady in distress. It was a gamble."

A gamble? I guess it was a well-played one at that. I'm torn between feeling angry over the mess I now find myself in and charmed by the fact I was so easily manipulated by the color of his money that I didn't see we were being used.

Now with no sister to search for, both Claude and Slingby dead, my name on the chopping block and no answers to anything, it's time for Ciel to start explaining.


End file.
